


No Better Version of Me

by Starry_Emerald173



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, I have no idea where this came from, Nomad!Steve, Soft!Reader, The world may end but the drama lives on, or where it's going
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-24 09:47:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30070380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starry_Emerald173/pseuds/Starry_Emerald173
Summary: The world fell apart five years ago during the Zombie Apocalypse. Despite the loss and chaos, Bucky Barnes’ life fell together when he found a group of survivors. Now he has a purpose, a people, and a home. He may even have found a partner in you.Too bad Steve Rogers and his roving band have other plans for the Tower.Zombies, swear words, and eventual threesomes oh my!
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Reader, Stucky x Reader
Kudos: 13





	1. Good Morning Apocalypse

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: Will do my best to update the tags as we go, darlings, and note in the a/n section of each chapter
> 
> Less of as-the-world-ends fic and more of a after-the-world-ended fic
> 
> No clue where this idea came from or where it's going

“Goddammit.” Bucky Barnes would never tell you, but you were so fiercely adorable when you scowled, binoculars pressed against your face as you confirmed the shot. “ _ Sonovabitch _ .”

He grinned, re-racked the rifle. “You should know better than to think I miss, doll.”

“Bite me.” There was no heat in the words, the bickering more habit than meaningful. In fact, given your painful shyness when you’d first met, he took it as a sign of your comfort with him - that you didn’t feel a need to censor yourself or guard your words. You’d moved from wary and silent survivor to foul-mouthed fiend and friend sometime after the first three months that your ragtag band had founded the fortress now called the Tower.

“Kinky.” He said back, because if he didn’t say  _ something _ , you’d get concerned.

Not that that isn’t nice too. 

When the world fell apart five years ago, Bucky Barnes didn’t really have anyone who got that worked up over what happened to him. He’d been three months into his discharge when Romero turned into the prophet of the twenty-first century. He'd been struggling to make sense of civilian life, his injuries that ended his military career, and alone.

Now he had the Tower - a home. Several stories of repurposed building lording over the small 'compound' created through some creative post-apocalyptic street reform. He had an actual room, a bed, and hot showers.

Okay, not so much 'hot' as 'warm' but he'd take it.

He had a purpose here - protecting people from the zombie horde and predatory scavengers and roving gangs of survivors that were sometimes worse than zombies. He'd left the military with one extremely specific skillset, and now he got to use it to defend what was left of the human race in this little slice of the world.

Hell, he even had a family, for the first time in ages - he had you, and Sam, who would worry if he didn’t come home at night or bring him meals or just keep him company during his shift. He'd even grudgingly begun to add others to that list. There was the Parker kid and his aunt, Pepper - though her husband was still out - and Rhodey. Even Wanda, despite how unnerving she could be at times.

Bucky knew it was pathetic, but sometimes he was  _ so goddamn grateful _ the world had ended so he could end up here.

You snorted indelicately, letting the binoculars fall. “Keep dreaming, Barnes.”

Well,  _ yeah _ , Bucky thought, shifting a little as some of his blood thought about heading south. He was only human. And you - well, you were  _ you _ . Funnier than you thought, cuter than you wanted to hear, a blend of sweet and tart under the surface. All packaged in a body that...well, he wasn’t going to think about  _ that _ right this minute, he decided, but it was nice.

“What was that?”

“I said,” He blew out another breath. “Pick another target.”

Your teeth sunk nibbled on your lower lip.

For a minute, Bucky felt sweat bead along his spine, certain that you'd somehow developed psychic powers and were aware of what he'd been thinking.

Because Bucky Barnes might have home, a purpose, and people.

But when it came to you and the feelings he was almost certain he would find if he bothered to take two minutes to think about them?

He was a fucking coward. He would literally rather face down half a herd of hungry zombies than take that first step beyond being friends. Because if he did, and it ended - if he lost your smile, or your laugh - he would truly be damaged beyond repair.

You just mattered too damn much.

After a moment that stretched out just a second or two too long, you shook your head. “Nah. I probably ought to head back in. Promised to help with dinner tonight.”

“Oh god.” His groan was entirely heartfelt as he remembered the cooking rotation. “That’s right - it’s Vis’ turn to cook.”

“He’s getting better.” You tried to defend the newest member of your community.

“Hard not to, considering where he started.” Wasn't that the truth? The Crusoe - the name for a survivor who had lost communication with all others - had been pretty much living off scraps for the last two years. 

Now he either cooked things with so much flavor they were inedible, or so tasteless you wished they were.

The laugh that escaped you is one of his favorite sounds, despite its accompanying punch to his arm. “True. At least Wanda’s taking mercy on us and helping him too.”

“Hmm.” He’s not willing to go that far - Wanda loves spicy foods too much for it to be much of an improvement in his book. “At least her mood is better since they started sleeping together.”

Wanda is a little scary, and he’s man enough to admit it.

The woman had a preternatural way with hand to hand and ranged weapons. Especially any involving fire or pyrotechnics. It's why she was his co-lieutenant in overseeing the guard detail for the Tower.

But she'd pretty much taken one look at the Crusoe - Vis - and...well, Bucky wouldn't say she so much as melted as she _softened_. Just a little. Now, more than a month since he'd staggered to the base of the Tower's walls, it was rare for them to be without the other.

"I see Sam's been spreading gossip around again." 

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Or I have two perfectly functional eyes."

You muttered something low enough for him to miss most of the words except 'perfect' and 'eyes' and he grinned as you stormed off, still muttering direly under your breath. Adorable.

He let his eyes turn back to the field.

This new world wasn't without its pitfalls, after all. 

There were the obvious - the zombies. Shufflers. Swarmers. Zed. He'd heard about every damn word in the book for them, but zombies worked for him. Drawn to loud noises, blood, and quick enough when worked into a feeding frenzy. They were fine enough - stopped by the walls and defenses that ringed the Tower.

Then there were the survivors.

Now that, he thought, settling back in to finish out his shift with the ease of habit, was a whole 'nother kettle of fish. Not that Bucky's faith in people had been particularly strong before the end of the world. Sure, there were good people, and okay people, but there were a lot of shitty people too.

And now? With survival on the line?

Even good people would do terrible things to survive.

Crusoe's were alright usually. Took 'em some time to adjust to people again, but they were alright.

It was the Raiders and the Ferals they really had to watch out for. And the Lamoes - or as Sam liked to pronounce it 'lame-os'.

Ferals were exactly what they sounded like - humans gone feral.

Raiders too were pretty clearly named. Tended to travel in packs, moving from place to place, taking what they could and leaving not much behind but smoke, ashes, and bone. They were scavengers, moving on if you could bare your teeth and show 'em you were a bigger, badder predator.

And last but not least, the Lamoes. So named for the acronym Bucky had dinged them with. Last Man on Earth. Folks who'd dug out their own little enclaves, or were on the lookout for one they could take and makeover in some kind of way to suit their own view of how the new world order should work. Lamoes were dangerous, in more ways than one, but as long as they weren't fundamentalists, you could generally reason with them, scare them off, or leave them be.  
  
Stark had even started a trade alliance with a few of the Lamoe enclaves upstate and along the ridge of Appalachia. Pepper made him stick closer to home these days, but last time he'd come back from as far south as DC, he'd brought Cherry Blossom Moonshine -which might've been a generous term - that had added a certain haziness to the following 'welcome home party'.

You'd fallen asleep on him, snoring like a hibernating bear.

It was his favorite thing about that night.

Stark was due back any day now - maybe he'd bring back new and exotic beverages in the 'drinks that make you go blind' category.

Maybe, Bucky thought to himself with a smile as he sighted another Zombie outside the perimeter, maybe he'd even work up the nerve to ask you to dance this time.


	2. Gravity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: A little more backstory, a little more plotting...swear words and bad jokes be here?

“Closing time,” Clint sang, just off-key enough for Steve to know it’s intentional. “One last call for alcohol…”

“So help me god, Barton. Don’t you-”

“Finish your whiskey or beer.” Barton winked at Nat, wrapped his arms around his wife and pressed a kiss to her neck. “Closing time...you don’t have to go ho-”

“I’ll stab you. I’ll do it.” The red-headed woman promised.

“-ome but you can’t  _ decay _ hereee.”

“You’re lucky you’re about to be a father, Barton.”

Steve can’t help but laugh a little as Barton dodges the rock Nat threw playfully in his direction before dragging his heavily pregnant wife off to their tent, braced at the most defensible position in the entire camp.

“I don’t know how Laura stands him.” Natasha’s smile tells it for the lie it is as she settles back into her crouch beside the fire. “I’m glad we’re leaving him here though.”

“Yeah,” Steve admits. “Me too.”

The thought of bringing Barton along with them on this mission - hopefully the last mission - didn’t sit right with him. Fortunately, he hadn’t had to fight Clint about it too much. The man was a loyal friend, but an even more loyal husband and father. And, Steve knew, he’d seen the logic of Steve’s argument once he’d had a moment to cool down.

After all, if Nat and Steve didn’t come back from this one, Laura would still need him, as would the rest of the camp.  _ Truly _ need him once she gave birth in another few weeks.

“You sure this is what you want to do, Steve?” Natasha asked him, not for the first time, casting him a look he couldn’t quite read even after all their time together. “This is…”

He shook his head, and feeling the weight of the last few years, sank down to take a seat on the cold ground. “Wants got nothing to do with it Nat. You know that.”

They’d gone around about this a dozen times or more in the last month. The same argument. The same stubborn set in her deceptively delicate chin that told him he was being a mule-stubborn ass, pun intended. And he knew his shoulders and his jaw would set in the way that meant he wasn’t backing down.

At the end of the day though, Nat would follow where he led.

He still wasn’t quite sure why - she didn’t need him to survive, to lead her, the way others in the camp did. She didn’t look at him with that uncomfortable kind of certainty that people looked at leaders with - a look Steve still couldn’t quite take without feeling a squirm of discomfort.

He hadn’t ever wanted to be a leader like this.

He’d just wanted to do what was  _ right _ .

When the world ended, he hadn’t been able to save anyone he cared about. Not his Ma, not the neighbors, not his college sweetheart. 

No, when the infected took New York, he’d already been deployed to one of the checkpoints set up outside Atlanta to help keep the peace.

Hadn’t made a damn bit of difference in the end. The zombies had made - to borrow Barton’s terrible sense of humor - ‘finger food’ out of Atlanta by the end, and he and the other survivors had left the burning rubble of Atlanta behind them.

Around the time he reached Augusta - or at least, its skeletal remains - Nat had found him, Barton and Laura in tow, along with a few others.

They’d moved steadily north ever since. Sometimes they picked up other survivors, sometimes they lost ‘em.

The memories just made him all the more tired and so he dropped his head into his hands, rubbed them through the thick growth at his jaw, then his head, as if he could shake the tired right out. “We have to do this.”

“We don’t have to do it this way.”

“You have any alternatives?” He shot at her. He swept a hand in the direction of the rest of the camp, most of which was asleep. “Our people...we can’t keep running, Nat. Can’t keep fighting every enclave and raider group in the northeast.”

“I know.” She admitted quietly. “I just...I don’t have to like it.”

“I don’t like it either.” He confessed. “I don’t know who this makes me anymore, Nat. But after this, it’s done. One last mission.”

“Oh Captain, my Captain.” It was both a quip and acquiescence as she shoved back to her feet. “I’ll see you at dawn?”

He nodded. “Yeah. We’ll head out to meet up with Stark then.”

He watched Nat stalk away into the darkness with silent predatory grace, headed for her own tent, where her own partner would be awake, waiting. Maria wasn’t coming with them either, as much Steve’s second in command as Clint was Nat’s. Barton and Hill could hold their survivors together while he and Nat were gone, or if they didn’t come back at all.

Staring into the dying flames of the fire, he wondered what it would be like - to have someone waiting for you when you went to say goodbye. Someone who would stay awake, lie in bed beside you, and whisper words of comfort and reassurance until morning came. Someone who would look at you the way Laura looked at Clint, openly affectionate. Or the way Maria’s eyes would search a group til they found Nat and then her whole  _ being _ would relax.

What would it be like? He tipped his head back to gaze up at the stars - the stars you can actually see, drowning out the inky black now that there’s no light pollution to stop it. What would it be like to have something other than gravity holding you in place as you gaze into the vast, endless, beautiful, terrifying reaches of space?

Struck by the romantic turn of his own thoughts, Steve shook his head, shut his eyes. When he opened them again, it’s just the night sky above him, and the sleeping camp around him.

And he settled in to wait for dawn.


	3. Soft is Not Weak

“..ut my aunt said…”

You let Peter’s happy chatter drift through your mind, more paying attention to the tone than the exact words. He was a good kid, big-hearted, and  _ smart _ . Smart enough that Tony had left him in charge of the systems he’d designed that ensured the Tower had clean water and heat in the winter when he’d left on his latest adventure, with Rhodey acting as oversight.

You hadn’t had a brother PZ (pre-zombie), but you were pretty sure the mix of affection, amusement, and annoyance the young man provoked in you were in that vein of found family.

Which was why two or three times a week, he’d come see you in the greenhouse or the hydroponics and tell you about what was going on in his life, his aunt’s life, and pretty much anyone in the Tower’s life.

Teenage boys, you’d discovered quickly, were a veritable font of gossip.

Which was why you were also very careful about what you told him, about yourself and others.

Not that he was malicious or mean about it, you reflected as your fingers worked to secure the climbing bean stalks to the newly fixed trellis. He was just so...excited...about everything it would never occur to him that he  _ shouldn’t _ say something about it.

There wasn’t much innocence left in the world these days - you wanted to protect as long as you could.

Memories of those first few weeks...of the things you’d all had to do to survive...pushed at you, threatening to pull you under and you shook them off before they could really sink their teeth in.

You intentionally avoided dwelling in the past. It brought with it only regret and pain, and there was nothing you could do about it. So you did your best to let it go, and ground yourself in the here, the now, and the people who had become your family in the last five years.

“..And then Pepper said I should ask you or Mr. Barnes that.”

You blinked stupidly, caught off guard. “What?”

Why would...internally you groaned while externally you wiped your hands on your gardening apron and tried to keep an impassively neutral face.

Pepper Potts was an impressive, ruthless, and surprisingly kind woman. No doubt about it - she ran the Tower, from top to bottom, and heaven help the idiot who got in her way. Hers was a dominant personality, and you’d be a liar if you couldn’t admit you admired the way she kept the others in leadership positions in check during your council meetings. While every single one of the founding members - you, Bucky, Sam, Wanda, Pepper, Tony, and Rhodey - had become almost family in the last few years, there was still a lot of personality to manage. Pepper kept meetings on track with an iron grip, and often made the final decision when the rest of you were deadlocked on an issue.

She was also, you’d discovered, something of an incurable romantic.

You figured she had to be, given that she and Tony had been together for the whole five years you’d known them, and a few more beyond. That man was capable of driving anyone crazy. Pepper probably had those rose-colored lenses when it came to love just to protect her own sanity.

Or, a traitorous part of you whispered, she actually  _ sees _ the way you look at Bucky. It’s not like you were great at disguising your feelings - you’d never needed to learn to hide them in your pre-apocalypse life, and you didn’t see the point in it now. Why waste the time or energy?

And just who the hell wouldn’t be half in love with Bucky Barnes? You asked yourself, feeling a little defensive. That snarky sense of humor that was as sneaky as he was (for a big man, he moved so quietly). That protective streak when it came to others. He was kinder than he thought he was, not as much of a loner as he made himself out to be, and on the rare occasion he fully let his guard down, that beautiful smile of his could damn near stop your heart.

He’d made you feel safe right from the start, and not just because he was very good at killing zombies.

Some people, you thought, were just born to be protectors.

“Well,” Peter scuffed a foot in the greenhouse gravel. “It’s just...cuz the way he looks at  _ you _ is a lot how the way you look at  _ him _ but you both never look at _ each other _ like that at the same time and that’s when Aunt May said Pepper should mind her business because you were both consenting adults who would figure it out before the end of the apocalypse even if she thought it was taking you forever too.” The word waterfall ended with a puppy dog look. “So when I told them I was  _ pretty _ sure MJ likes me too, but why didn’t she  _ say _ anything, they told me to talk to you and Mr. Barnes.”

You made a noise that you hoped sounded noncommittal, even as your hands fisted at your sides and Peter handed you your water bottle.

Apparently that was enough of a response, because the runaway train of Peter Parker’s mouth moved on to the topic of MJ, and relief was a cool eddy around you - Peter could, and would, wax poetic over the girl for the rest of the afternoon.

“..And then Pepper said Mr. Stark-”

“You do know you can call him Tony, right?” You asked, teasing a little. “He’s asked you to, like, a million times, kiddo.”

Peter flushed, ran a hand through his mop of hair. “Yeah. I know. It’s just…” He shrugged helplessly. “Anyway. Pepper said he said that he’d be back in another day or two and he’s bringing  _ new people _ .”

A trickle of unease, a slight raising of the hair at the back of your neck and along your arms. An instinctual kind of disquiet. “Oh?”

“Apparently.” Peter was oblivious to your reaction. “Coming with him from Trenton. We haven’t had new people in a long time - what do you think they’re like? Do you think they’ll stay? What happens if the council kicks them out?”

You made noises here and there, letting Peter ramble as the pair of you moved through the greenhouse, checking on your latest plantings, adjusting the water systems here, distributing food for the soil there.

New people.

Peter was right, it had been a long time since you’d taken in more than the stray Crusoe - a turn of phrase from Bucky that had stuck. Really, that man was far more clever than he liked to admit.

Crusoes aside, it took a while to resettle small groups into the Tower’s existing structure. Oh, no one was turned away. But there was a  _ lengthy _ probationary period where they’d be watched. It was a sensible precaution, held over from that bitter first year when raiders would try to send spies, or Lamoes, to see if they could take the Tower.

You left a lot of that to your co-council. Spies and wars and tactics weren’t exactly your strong suit. Though you’d learned a lot from them.   
No, no, your skills were in your greenhouse, in the crops from here and the hydroponics that allowed you to sustainably feed the people who called this home. You were a gardner - and not just of plants. You took your turns on rotation with the schools, and you enjoyed cultivating the next generation of caretakers for the garden that the Tower could turn to.

You didn’t have Rhodey and Bucky’s talent for strategy, or Sam or Wanda’s way with fighting. You couldn’t lead the way Pepper did. 

But you could nurture, people and plants.

That was your real role - that was your domain within the Tower.

Everyone, from child to adult, knew you. Could talk to you. Tell you concerns, worries, dreams.

It wasn’t like Sam - with his counseling from the VA before the world fell to pieces. Though god knew he stayed busy enough. No, no, this was another kind of role. Somewhere between confessor and parent and friend. And because everyone was so comfortable with you, so easy with you, your co-council members looked to you when they needed to know the pulse and mood and feel of the population that made up your village of survivors.

“You’re maternal,” Wanda had told you once, when she had come to you. She so rarely did, but sometimes...no, maybe especially...the strongest among you needed to occasionally just  _ be _ with someone who’s presence held no expectation. “Like...like I remember my mother being. Just - you bring peace to those around you. She was soft, like you.” She’d scoffed, tipped her head back and looked up at the darkened glass, the thin barrier to the night sky. “Soft is not weak, you understand?”

You’d nodded, and the fierce young woman who was your friend had fallen back into comfortable silence.

You’d done things to survive. Who hadn’t? 

You’d been party to decisions that had been anything but soft, sitting on the Tower’s council.

But at your core? You were a person that was built for home, hearth, family, community. That was the core of who you were.

And that was why the idea of a new group joining raised your hackles. You knew you’d have to devote extra time and attention to them, to smooth the way and make sure they really truly integrated into this community. To alert your co-council if something seemed off, if any one of a thousand possible red flags was raised in any of the newcomers’ interactions with the others.

It was exhausting, just thinking about it, as you sent Peter on his way with a promise that he’d keep that to himself for now.

On the upside, you reckoned as you made your way down the stairwell to the floor you shared with Sam, his partner, and Bucky, Tony would be home, which would put nearly everyone into good spirits, including Pepper.

“You heard the good news?” Sam asked, knocking on your door as you gathered your shower caddy and towel from your apartment.

You nodded. “Yeah. We should figure out where we can absorb them into the work rotations after the first week. I want to keep medical and security out of it, at least right now.”

“Jumping right into the shoptalk?” Sam asked.

“Nooo.” You shook your hands. “I’m going to go shower off the dirt and then I’m going to pass out. Anything not a priority is getting tabled til tomorrow.”

“You want me to grab you something from the mess?”

You leaned up as you brushed by him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “My hero.”

“Don’t let Riley catch you doing that.” Sam warned, but he was smiling as he gave your ass a playful swat. “Go. I’ll bring you back extra dessert.”

“Thanks, Sam!” You called over your shoulder.

Showers were a luxury. Warm showers were an even bigger one. 

Which was why communal showers were a thing - though now there were a few throughout the Tower, not just the original, small one you’d first had. You still liked it though - it had been part of a gym or training center, and was less used because of how out of the way it was. Which meant better odds of the warm water not running out midway through.

You’d swear the water heaters were sentient - they always seemed to run out of warm water  _ just  _ after you’d put in your hair products.

You’d really lucked out this time though.

No one was in the shower, so you were able to selfishly indulge in a rousing round of shower karaoke as you let the water wash away the dirt and grime of the day.

Even with the walk back up several flights to your apartment, you were practically relaxed by the time you made it back, the delicious aroma of food wafting from the neighboring unit - Sam and Riley’s - calling to you like a siren’s song.

“Heard you made some moves on my man,” Riley said when you strolled through the door, passing you a plate of still-warm food before jerking a thumb to the couch. “Party’s already started.”

Sam and Bucky momentarily interrupted their sibling like banter to acknowledge your presence, but when back to it the moment you made it clear that the food would be the worthy recipient of your attention this evening. As the studied insults passed back and forth, as Riley slid into place next to Sam with his own plate, you let the feeling of home wash over you, ground you, shake the last of your worries.

You managed to stay awake long enough to eat, and the last thing you remembered was the feel of Bucky’s body behind you as you slowly slid into sleep.


End file.
